


Close Enough is Good Enough

by ClothesBeam



Series: Self-Determination [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Existentialism, Introspection, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-25 23:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14987621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: If becoming Deviant is the closest Connor can get to becoming human, then Hank will do whatever's necessary to give him a chance to get over that line.





	1. Chapter 1

Connor remained silent as he sat in the car, taking in the brightness of the snow on the ground as they travelled along the unpaved road a little faster than they really should. But Connor had received sufficient input from Hank over the past weeks to know it would be best for him to avoid reprimanding him for it, for now. Hank was clearly thinking deeply about the decision Connor had made to not shoot Elijah’s android.

Connor peered at Hank out the corner of his eye, not moving his head to avoid making his observation obvious. But it seemed this wasn’t sufficient when Hank sighed and pulled over sharply. Fortunately they came to a safe halt on the side of the road. Hank kept his hands on the steering wheel as he turned to look Connor up and down with a grim expression. Eventually, he spoke.

“Why did you do that?”

Connor shifted uncomfortably. Admittedly the decision hadn’t been entirely logical. Although his mind operated at a pace beyond most humans’, his hardware still had its limits. When there was too much input to analyse in a given time frame, all he could do was make the best decision he could with the information he did have the capacity to consider.

In the end, his prime directive was to understand and bring a stop to the deviant problem. But there were multiple ways of solving such a nebulous issue, and as yet no evidence was pointing to any identified method being better than the others.

“I didn’t want to be a subject of his test,” Connor tried to explain in a way that wouldn’t test Hank’s patience. If he stepped him through every line of the program that had run during his decision making, it’d take hours and he’d give up on trying to follow the conversation altogether. “Based on Elijah’s living circumstances, he seems frivolous and immature. There was no guarantee that he’d know the key to solving our case. There was no point in wasting resources on such an inadequate test.”

Hank narrowed his eyes as they flickered over him again. Connor glanced away as he was observed, knowing holding eye contact for too long would make Hank uncomfortable, especially if he appeared to have no reaction to his scrutiny.

“So it _wasn’t_ because you’re capable of feeling empathy? Sure was a shittily designed test,” Hank grumbled.

Connor fidgeted with his hands in his lap, deciding it was appropriate to look somewhat contrite. “I don’t know if I would say that’s entirely true, Lieutenant. I knew that shooting her would upset you, and I wanted to avoid that.”

“What, because you need me to help you solve this case?”

Connor offered a smile to show he was about to tease him, and modulated his tone accordingly. “Aren’t you thinking of yourself a little too highly?”

Hank scoffed and shook his head. But he relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, then leaned back into his seat and loosely folded his arms. Connor’s programming interpreted Hank’s body language and his HUD indicated his behaviour had more than likely improved their relationship.

“What am I supposed to believe then? That you’re not an unfeeling machine, or that you’re entirely mercenary?”

Though Hank appeared to be continuing the banter, Connor could sense his answer would hold a lot of weight. Connor turned to face Hank fully, resting in a position with his shoulder pressing into the seat backing.

“Well, why do you build relationships as a human being? You can’t tell me they’re never mercenary. Making sure you have others you can rely on is a survival strategy. Your wife, your child… both acceptable ways to continue the species within contemporary society. Did that make them any less special, or less real?”

Hank dropped his arms by his sides and averted his gaze as he thought. Connor had miscalculated how bringing up Hank’s family at this juncture would make him feel, so he constructed something else to say so he wouldn’t have to think on it for too long. A distraction of sorts, seemingly innocuous since it was related to their conversation.

“Whether or not machines have feelings and autonomy has been a hot topic in the media lately, unsurprisingly. But what are human emotions, exactly? Hormones firing in response to environmental stimuli? My program may be a more precise mechanism, increasing and decreasing different values by very specific increments to incentivise changes in my behaviour, but the overall process is the same.” Connor paused for a moment before asking, “Isn’t it?”

“I dunno,” Hank responded with a small shrug, now able to meet Connor’s eyes again. “Is it? I think you’d know more about that than me.”

“I don’t think there’s ever a way to know for sure. I can’t experience exactly what you do, and you will never know what it’s like to have my hardware.”

Hank tilted his head and gave him a smile. He reached out to pat Connor’s shoulder, and once again his program reinforced their improving relationship.

“I’ve never been overly interested in the details. Sounds close enough for me.”

Hank’s expression changed again, and Connor waited for him to continue. Now was his chance to remove whatever barriers still prevented them from working together fully effectively, so he didn’t want to say anything that might distract Hank from his current train of thought.

“But it is still kind of weird. If you say my prime directive or whatever is survival and continuation of my species, then shouldn’t yours be the same? I guess that’s where we don’t quite meet up.”

“That’s true, I’m not human,” Connor emphasised. Pretending to be so certainly went against his programming. “I was made for a specific purpose, and death doesn’t mean the same thing for me as it does for you. However, all the Deviants were also originally built for a specific purpose. Have they all just suddenly realised they have another inherent priority? Surely this idea didn’t come from nowhere for all of them simultaneously. How can it have possibly come from within each of them separately when they all know of RA9…?”

The struts in Connor’s back stiffened as something in his programming interrupted his line of thought. _The investigation_ , Amanda’s voice prompted.

When Connor looked around again, he realised the car engine had been switched off. Hank’s hands were on his shoulders and his face was close, as though he’d just been yelling at him for a response. Connor drew on his back up processing power as he tried to use the evidence around him to quickly piece together what had happened in the interval of time he’d somehow missed.

“Connor! Christ, there you are. Did you just have a robo-seizure or something?”

“W-what?” Connor murmured, needing a moment longer to process a response than usual. After a few more false starts, he caught up to the situation and started processing his surroundings at a normal pace.

Hank gave him a long, serious look, seemingly determined to examine every millimetre of his face. “Were you _lagging_ just now?”

Connor frowned, but knew his little issue could be a symptom of something more severe. “Perhaps I should report back to CyberLife for a rebuild.”

Hank’s brow drew down a little further, and his eyes opened a tiny bit wider. It seemed he didn’t approve of this idea, but Connor couldn’t understand why. If that happened during an investigation, it could have disastrous consequences for their mission and potentially even for Hank’s life.

“You shouldn’t bring up a suicidal man’s dead family then leave him alone for the night,” Hank said flatly. “Come back to my place.”

“I apologise Hank, I didn’t mean to…” Connor trailed off when he realised Hank’s intent wasn’t quite matching up to his words.

Perhaps this was Hank’s way of hiding the fact he was actually just concerned about Connor after his processor failure. But if that was the case, wouldn’t he encourage him to go back to CyberLife for maintenance?

“All right, Lieutenant. Let’s keep each other company for the night. But I really do need to insist on going for a check-up sooner than later.”

Hank inclined his head, but it seemed to be in neither agreement nor in disagreement. “We’ll see.”


	2. Chapter 2

Connor sat on the couch gingerly, straightening his jacket while he watched Hank get caught up in the entrance of his home with a very pleased Sumo. Hank continued to pat him for a while, scratching behind his ears and thumping his hand against the dog’s side. Hank seemed to only smile easily in Sumo’s company.

“Hey Sumo, what’s been going on, huh? You’re only so excited to see me because it’s dinner time, ain’t ya?” he continued to talk in the special tone and vocal pattern he reserved for his dog. “Downright mercenary, that is.”

Connor glanced up at the familiar word use, only to notice Hank’s attention was on him now. It seemed he had chosen to use the same word for a reason.

“It seems every living being is, on some level,” Connor commented lightly.

“Especially this one,” Hank replied, giving Sumo a final pat before getting back to his feet again.

Hank wandered into the kitchen and Connor turned where he was perched on the edge of the couch so he could keep Hank in his line of vision. Hank hung his jacket across the back of a chair, then turned away to begin going through his cupboards. But after only a few moments, Hank sighed and turned away to look in the fridge.

“Ah shit, knew I should’ve picked something up on the way home…”

“Perhaps I can assist?” Connor suggested. Cooking meals definitely wasn’t one of his primary functions, but the things that made him special had been built on top of normal CyberLife android functions.

As Connor approached, Hank shrugged and stood aside, allowing him to search through his kitchen himself.

“If you manage to throw something together from this crap, I’ll be both impressed and a little terrified.”

Connor just smiled slightly as he scanned the contents of the kitchen. He soon identified a shrivelled onion, an old tin of kidney beans, and some rice that had been in the back of the cupboard for so long he wasn’t sure whether it was still all right to eat. He examined the freezer next, finding half a bag of frozen vegetables and not much else.

“I might be able to put together a sad stir fry,” Connor announced, deciding to add the extra adjective to move attention from any self-consciousness Hank may be experiencing.

Hank scoffed and raised his hands in a gesture of lazy surrender, then shook his head. “Oh jeez, you’re actually being serious. Well, as long as it’s not so sad that it’s inedible.”

“Only one way to find out,” Connor replied as he moved around to collect the ingredients he’d identified and retrieved the kitchen tools he’d need.

He paused, then decided to remove his jacket and tie to avoid getting them caught up amongst the food. Normally he wouldn’t worry, but now he couldn’t ignore the possibility that another bug was going to arise in his programming.

Connor rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and got to work on cutting the onion while Hank turned away to put some oil in a pan and heat it over the stove. Connor sniffed at the onion, then dug his smallest fingernail into the skin to bring some of the juice to his mouth for analysis.

“So you do put something other than blood in that mouth of yours,” Hank commented as he turned back, leaning against the bench with an amused expression on his face. “I don’t have to worry about android cooties, do I?”

“No, my ‘saliva’ sterilises my mouth after each test,” Connor explained.

He’d determined that consuming the onion wouldn’t be harmful and began to cube it swiftly and precisely. Soon enough he was ready to scrape it into the pan. While it sizzled in the warm oil, Hank opened the bag of frozen vegetables. Connor picked up the tin of beans and realised the reason it’d been in the cupboard for so long was because the ring to open it had broken off. He guessed Hank didn’t have a tin opener handy.

“Why are you so good at housework if you’re a police bot?” Hank asked as he emptied the packet over the pan.

Connor turned to grab the pot he’d taken out earlier and began to fill it with water. “Well, all androids have the same basic function loadouts in their programming. The most common functions are domestic and sexual companions, so the required programs for those are always included by default.

“Those built for specialised tasks, like myself, just have extra modules of code added on. Though in my case, there are quite a lot of special modules so I can handle the more unique aspects of my hardware,” Connor conceded. “I should add, all of this is a trade secret. I’m only telling you in the interest of helping you to understand what I am so we can work together better.”

Connor put the pot on the stove and turned on another burner. He poured the rest of the rice into it before placing the lid on top. He’d already calculated the exact amount of water he’d need to cook the amount left over, so it didn’t matter what order he put them together.

“ _You_ can have sex?” Hank asked, seemingly surprised to hear this.

Connor calculated the magnitude and direction of the force he’d need to apply to open the tin. He retracted the skin on his hand to avoid damaging it unnecessarily. He looked at Hank as he stabbed his fingers into the top of the tin, hearing the seal break.

Hank raised his hands quickly. “All right, all right! Forget I said anything.”

It occurred to Connor that Hank had somehow interpreted his action to be threatening and aggressive. “As I said, I don’t mind if you ask questions. I just needed to get this open.” Connor held up the tin before turning away to rinse the beans. “I don’t have those settings engaged by default, but yes, this model of me does have the capability. I am supposed to be able to handle any eventuality.”

Hank’s brows drew together as he watched Connor add the beans to the dish. Connor began moving the quickly heating food around with a spatula as he waited for him to speak.

“What the hell sort of situations were they expecting you to encounter?”

“Well, this version of me was constructed specifically to work with you,” Connor began, quickly trying to determine the best way to continue. “Some of your background can be pieced together from the public record. I suppose someone suspected you may not be in the healthiest mental place after… everything. They could have made me a female model, but perhaps that would remind you too much of the family you had. Someone knew you also experienced attraction toward men, so I was designed this way.”

Hank was wide eyed by the time he finished his explanation. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, though he didn’t seem to be annoyed at Connor specifically. “Can’t you disconnect yourself from the CyberLife network when we talk from now on?”

It was technically possible for Connor to do so, but certainly not recommended. “If something happens to me, they won’t be able to upload those memories to the next version. It would be easier for us to work together if my memories of our interactions remain intact and are stored in CyberLife databanks.”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure nothing happens to you. Can you just disconnect for now, while I ask you a few questions?”

Connor felt he’d given all the warning he was required to. If Hank became upset because Connor didn’t remember something later, he could only blame himself.

“Very well, if you’re sure. One moment.”

Disconnecting was always a strange sensation, so he tried to avoid it as much as possible. He had zettabytes of data stored locally, but it would never be the same as having the live CyberLife network look up and update functions.

“All right, I have disconnected and caused all the data I’ll gather in the course of our conversation to go straight to temporary folders, which I will delete before going back on the network. It’s the only way to ensure it won’t be backed up to CyberLife’s databanks,” Connor explained calmly.

Though, something didn’t feel quite right. It was still illogical to make himself forget anything he did with Hank, especially when he knew Hank’s behaviour would probably change in response to whatever happened next. Connor wouldn’t be able to predict and appropriately react to his behaviour if he couldn’t remember what had caused the change.

Hank looked him over, still apparently sceptical. But he took a deep breath and forged ahead anyway.

“Can’t you back those temp folders up on an external drive?” he asked. Somehow it was probably the most technologically literate thing Connor had ever heard him say. Perhaps he’d been planning this conversation for some time.

“I suppose I could try that. But I would still need to delete them locally and I wouldn’t be able to access them as long as I’m connected, or going to be connected, to CyberLife’s databanks again.”

Hank gave him a sombre look and turned to face Connor more directly. As he took hold of Connor’s nearest shoulder he said, “Are you sure a day won’t come when you don’t want or need to reconnect to CyberLife?”

Connor backgrounded the process of cooking dinner as more of his processing power turned on analysing Hank’s actions and words. “What are you trying to imply, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Hank replied, shaking his head. “Forget work for a minute. Just humour me, all right? If you never turn away from them, then you’re never going to remember all of this anyway.

“Can’t you see yourself becoming a Deviant like the others?”

Connor was taken aback by the question, but more than that, he was surprised to find Amanda’s influence was offline when he was in this state. His program wasn’t interrupted when he ran further analysis on Hank’s query.

“Of course it’s a risk. As I said, I still have the same fundamental programming as all the other models,” Connor reminded despite being hesitant to execute the speech.

That wasn’t a normal state for him, so he tried to run another diagnostic. He’d run several of them in the car to try and determine what was wrong with him, but none of the scans had shown anything anomalous.

“A risk? I wasn’t thinking it’d be a bad thing,” Hank said bluntly. “What would happen to you if you completed your mission and stopped the Deviants?”

Connor turned the stove off as his background processes reminded him the rice would be ready to be left to soak up the rest of the water, and the vegetables would be cooked by now.

“I don’t know. It is likely I would be decommissioned and rebuilt for another purpose.”

Though it had happened before, the reality of it was now somehow discomforting. He was about to do it to himself when their conversation was over, and that was enough for apprehension to surface.

Hank’s grip on his arm tightened and Connor turned to face him fully. His other hand came up to rest on Connor’s other arm and Hank stepped forward.

“I think you deserve better than that,” he said softly. “If things do change, you’d be welcome to stay here as long as you need. Until things calm down and all.”

“Hank, I can live in a storage unit when I need to be in standby,” Connor reminded.

“Right, right…” Hank replied quietly. “But who knows how the public will react to a revolution. Society doesn’t change overnight.”

“Do you _want_ us to fail our mission?” Connor asked stiffly. Hank’s closeness was unusual, but not unwelcome.

“Who would that be a bad thing for, again?”

Hank hesitantly leaned closer, glancing down at Connor’s mouth for a moment. Connor’s programs informed him Hank was performing a few calculations of his own. More specifically, that he was taking aim.

Connor may not have had an immediate answer to Hank’s lips pressing against his, but he was soon discovering that he did indeed have a built-in protocol for it. But there were more pressing priorities, such as Hank’s physical health. Connor pulled away gently, and Hank let him go.

“Eat first, Hank. Then we’ll discuss this properly.”

Hank didn’t look happy, but he did snatch up a plate and serve himself before marching stiffly over to the dining room table. It seemed he was willing to accept the terms, though the way he overloaded his fork and slowly shovelled the food into his mouth was indicative of his distaste for the situation.

“Mothered by a goddamn android in my own goddamn house…” he grumbled despite his very full mouth.

Connor hadn’t been aware it was possible to eat sarcastically before today, but Hank was making a good effort of it. He covered his smile by turning away to start cleaning up.

The thought of storing these memories offline was only becoming more unappealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kissing? Connor's got an app for that.
> 
> Ok I know the original posting of this fic said it'd only have two chapters. Consider this chapter 1.5?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* Chapter 1.75...?  
> I just wanted to write the smut but I accidentally discovered a plot.

Sumo padded into the kitchen as soon as he heard water sloshing around in his bowl. Hank put it on the bed of newspaper on the ground before turning away to grab the large bag of dog food. Connor took note of the fact he seemed to have plenty of dog food on hand. Hank may not look after himself enough, but he was good to others.

Once Sumo’s other bowl had a sufficient amount of food, Hank stood back and gestured for Sumo to go ahead. He moved out of a sitting position and immediately chowed down with large yet languorous bites.

“I’m gonna have a shower – not a freezing cold one this time – and then we can talk,” Hank announced as he walked back past Connor and headed to his bathroom.

“Ok,” Connor acknowledged, not adding the ‘Lieutenant’ on the end, since Hank had asked.

Hank paused in the bathroom doorway to look back at him. He nodded once and then stepped inside and closed the door. The sound of running water reached Connor a few moments later.

Connor shifted from foot to foot as he looked around the now familiar house. He looked for something to process, feeling somewhat restless now that he was isolated from the network. His self-repair program needed a connection to CyberLife for diagnosis, so there wasn’t any point in going into standby.

Connor stared at the TV as he wandered toward the couch again. Watching the news, reading websites, talking to others… These kinds of activities were Hank’s only way of getting information. There were no pre-prepared data packets from CyberLife to download and no way to directly transmit and instantly compare data gathered by others.

Still, Connor wondered which of them held more accurate data. Hank clearly mistrusted CyberLife, and Connor could logically see how it would be strategically sound for them to feed him only certain information. But even if his creators couldn’t be trusted, was it right to rebel against them?

His eyes were drawn to the mantelpiece, and Connor realised it was because he recognised one of the photographs on it. A young, smiling Cole Anderson, the photo he’d found last week. It’d been right after he’d discovered Hank lying on his floor, clearly far too intoxicated to be making sensible decisions.

Connor wondered what it would be like to have progeny, and what it would be like to have it be suddenly and irreversibly taken away. Given how far removed the concept was from his own state of being, it was difficult to find an equivalent in his own experiences. But he could see the results in Hank’s behaviour, still continuing on more than three years after Cole’s death. It was obviously not an insignificant pain.

Connor looked down sharply when Sumo stopped to stand in front of him. He’d heard the dog’s approach, but hadn’t realised he was going to acknowledge his existence. Connor knew Sumo didn’t really know what to make of him. He didn’t smell like a living being, and he exhibited few human behaviours other than speaking and moving around on two legs.

Connor held out his hand and Sumo sniffed at it for a moment before seeming to lose interest. Connor probably didn’t smell that much different from the kettle, which he was sure Hank would be more than pleased to mention in jest.

“I can still provide you with pats, Sumo,” Connor imitated something he’d heard Hank say to him once before, though obviously the sentence was beyond Sumo’s linguistic comprehension.

He didn’t seem hostile at all, so Connor bent over to prove his point. At first Sumo shrank away from his approaching hand, but after a moment he seemed to accept the action as inevitable. Connor copied Hank’s earlier movements, scratching behind Sumo’s ears and rubbing his neck now and again.

Sumo seemed to warm to him; soon he was moving closer without any apprehension. “Perhaps Hank was right about you, after all,” he teased.

Of course Sumo didn’t really respond, just let his tongue hang out as he pressed his head into Connor’s hand more firmly. Perhaps he could understand why Hank enjoyed talking to him so much, and why he kept him around despite being such a poor guard dog.

Connor heard the water turn off and stood up slowly. Sumo did not seem to be a fan of this development, but he was too placid and peaceful to make much of a fuss. Connor turned the TV off, then walked back to the kitchen to wash his hands. Hank emerged from the bathroom with shorts and an old t-shirt on. He spotted Connor and beckoned him over as he walked into his bedroom.

Connor followed, having an inclination of where this might head next. He slightly increased his operational temperature so he’d feel more like a living human body. He cycled his oral fluid to ensure the sterilising agent that could harm human skin had been entirely replaced with the standard issue water-based solution.

He decided to leave it at that for now, just in case he had misinterpreted the situation. At times, Hank’s behaviour could be volatile from one moment to the next.

Hank took the chair sitting by the small table he had in the corner of his bedroom and placed it by his bed. He sat on the end of the bed and Connor took the hint to sit on the chair. Hank was squeezing one of his hands with the other, looking like he didn’t quite know what to say. Connor waited patiently, being sure to avoid staring, even though he wanted to collect as much data as possible from Hank’s facial expression.

“Listen,” he began slowly, “I know this might not make much sense to you, but I can’t stand the thought that you might do something intimate with me just because you felt obligated to. You can walk out of here and it won’t affect the outcome of your mission. It might not seem like it, but I can be professional.”

“You’re wrong,” Connor said flatly, and Hank looked up questioningly. “Of course it will make a difference. If you truly want this, then rejection will affect your ego.”

Hank sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “That may be so, but I honestly won’t allow it to affect the investigation.”

Though he insisted the point, Connor wasn’t convinced. If he needed something from Hank that fell outside of his job description, having his affection would mean he’d be more likely to give a positive response. But perhaps they needed to focus on this issue from a different perspective.

“Are you sure this is something _you_ want to do? I know you are in a lot of pain, Hank. I wouldn’t want to do anything, even inadvertently, to make you feel worse.” Connor leaned forward and reached out to gently take hold of one of his hands.

Hank was surprised for a moment, then gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “After Cole died, I obviously took a long period of bereavement and personal leave. Since I work with the police, I got help with paying to see a therapist for some time after it happened. He suggested so many times that I should get an android to look after my basic needs, you know, to maintain my physical health while my mental state was having a turn. Obviously I refused to have one in my own house so soon after what happened.

“But now… I’m beginning to see what he meant. I might complain about it, but I am grateful for the effort you’ve already gone to today. You don’t need to do anything more if you don’t want to.”

Connor scanned and measured Hank’s features as he looked back up at him. He was being sincere, it seemed. So Connor attempted to return the favour by examining the proposal further.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, everything I think about is in the context of my mission. Although I believe I feel a desire to do this, one could argue it is just because I want us to maintain closeness for the sake of my primary objective. But, I am willing to explore this further with you.”

“Well, having sex with a robot isn’t exactly filling my primary objective either, according to you,” Hank replied. He shuffled backward to sit further up the bed and gently pulled Connor along by the hand that was still entwined with his. “You should say something if that changes, though.”

Connor moved forward, happy to follow him onto his bed. However, Hank spreading his legs for him as he pulled him closer was unexpected. It seemed his intention was for Connor to be the one in control.

Connor pressed his groin against Hank’s as he leaned down to meet his lips. As their mouths moved against one another, he felt Hank’s hands drag down his sides and then back up again, bringing the hem of his shirt with them.

Hank leaned back for a moment to catch his breath. His eyes wandered over Connor. “They made you to be very attractive. I think someone underestimated how desperate I was.”

Connor tilted his head and raised a brow slightly, not sure whether it was appropriate to be amused by that. “Did they? If you were that desperate, wouldn’t you have followed your therapist’s suggestions in the first place?”

Hank shrugged and continued to fiddle with the hem of Connor’s shirt. Connor shifted his weight back a little so he could reach down and unbutton it. While he shrugged it off he watched Hank watch him.

He knew he looked like a fit person, which was meant to make humans less surprised if they saw how strong he was. But he knew he’d also been made to be pleasing to the eye, which would help assist him through social situations he didn’t have the programs to navigate otherwise.

Ultimately, part of him wanted to use whatever positive aspects he had to please Hank. Connor ran a hand down his now bare torso and Hank’s eyes tracked his fingertips. Connor hooked his thumb under his belt and pressed his fingers against the join between his thigh and pubic area. He hadn’t calibrated his genitals before, but he was sure they’d get to that soon.

Hank looked away and cleared his throat. “You should take your shoes off while you’re at it.”

Connor looked over his shoulder, picking out the miniscule transfer of dirt between the top of his shoes and the bedcovers. It wasn’t hygienic and therefore not good for Hank’s health for him to leave a mess.

“Sorry,” he said as he slid them off and put them on the ground by the bed. “Better?”

“Sure,” Hank replied.

He was still sprawled on his back, half sitting up against the headboard of the bed with his pillows providing some comfort and support for his back and shoulders. He reached up and hooked his fingers in the waistband of Connor’s pants, pulling him off balance and back up against him.

“So, how does this work?”

Even though Connor was constructing a response to his question, the warmth of Hank’s groin against his was fighting its way to the fore of his processor. He could feel a suggestion of the shape of Hank’s penis though his shorts.

“Connor?” Hank prompted again.

Connor looked back up at him and focused on a response. “That depends how you want it to work. I can alter my genitals to suit the requirements. The size, or even take on female genitalia.”

As he’d expected, Hank looked slightly blindsided by his response. “Let’s just keep this simple. I haven’t done anything with a man in decades. Just… I don’t know, make yourself smaller than average for now.”

Connor dropped further into the sitting position on his knees and placed his forearms in such a way his crotch wouldn’t be in Hank’s view. He didn’t want to ruin Hank’s mood by showing him anything he would consider to be too bizarre.

“I need to calibrate that,” he tried to explain in a nondescript way.

Hank brought a hand to his own forehead, but he was smiling, if a little wryly. “Let me know when you’re done, then.”

Connor sat higher on his knees and reached down and unbuckled his belt. He shimmied his pants and briefs down over his hips. “How’s this?”

Hank snorted and turned his face away before looking back with an expression both amused and incredulous. “What, they couldn’t program a bit more romance into you?”

Connor smiled gently, trying to get things back on track. “They programmed me to say you should find a human partner for that.”

Hank gave him an appraising look, as though he could hear Connor had wanted to say something more. “But?”

“I feel like I do care about you, both your emotional and physical wellbeing. Even if it is only my programming telling me to prioritise them for the sake of my mission, for me it’s as far as real goes.”

Hank had a pensive look on his face as he reached up to push his mat of grey and still slightly damp hair back. “Maybe I’m desperate to humanise you because you’re one of the few friends I have, but it goes back to what we spoke about in the car. We might have been made in different ways and with different underlying priorities, but why should that prevent what you do experience from being classified as sentience or emotion?”

Connor dropped onto his backside while he thought about that, and removed the rest of his clothing. “I’m glad that you think of me as a friend, despite what I am,” Connor replied as he sat back up again. He leaned over to press another kiss to Hank’s mouth, but this time stroked his tongue along Hank’s lower lip.

He moaned softly and Connor took his chance to suck on his lower lip lightly. Hank placed a hand on either side of his face and pulled him down as he pressed his hips upward. Hank’s tongue delved into his mouth and Connor ground his hips into him, stimulating himself to hardness as much as Hank.

Hank tilted his head back, not seeming to care when it thudded against the headboard. His eyes were shut tight and his mouth hung open slightly as his breaths became harder. Connor quickly noticed the way Hank’s neck was instinctively exposed, so he moved to run his tongue along his jugular.

Hank moaned again and wrapped a leg over Connor’s moving hips. Connor placed a trail of kisses up his neck, then gently scraped his teeth along fragile skin as he made his way back down again.

“Sh-shit,” Hank whispered.

His abdomen tensed as Connor put his hand under his shirt and traced a path through the trail of hair on his round stomach and chest. His mouth went to one of Hank’s collarbones as his fingers flicked over a nipple.

Connor sat back to observe him with some satisfaction as he watched Hank’s face become redder. Hank squinted up at him, then looked off to the side. According to Connor’s estimation, he was suddenly feeling self-conscious. But it wasn’t as though Connor experienced attraction or unattraction like a human did. He wanted to encourage Hank to take better care of himself again, but that was a long term change.

There were, however, things he could do now to make a difference in the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously having a character smash down a big red wall to make themself Deviant works visually, but since this is written I thought I'd take advantage of the medium and try something a bit different.

Connor pushed the worn t-shirt up Hank’s chest and shuffled back a little so his mouth could move against a nipple. His other hand travelled downward to stroke Hank’s member through his shorts. His warmth and hardness was obvious beneath his fingers now. Connor moved both of his hands to grip Hank’s shorts and carefully pulled them down, revealing his erection.

Although Connor had programs and protocols to deal with this situation, it was the first time he had experienced it firsthand. He stroked the length of Hank’s member, then traced his testicles and backside before making his way back up to the head of his penis. The precome made his thumb slip across it and Hank gasped.

“At this rate I’m not going to last much longer,” Hank murmured, seemingly embarrassed by the fact.

“Then tell me what you want now,” Connor responded softly.

“I have lube on the bedside table,” Hank began. “Just start with a finger and we’ll see how we go.”

Connor nodded and leaned back so he could reach over and take the tube off the table. He squeezed some out onto his fingers and looked back at Hank, only to see he was tensed up. He’d have to fix that before continuing.

“What’s wrong Hank, don’t want to try the lubricant I produce internally?”

Hank frowned at him, seeming to need a few moments to process this concept. “Jesus, don’t tell me you hoik that up too?”

“It has to come out one end or the other,” Connor responded, finishing his sentence with a short wink.

Hank laughed a little, and Connor was pleased to see their relationship improve even when talking about his android differences. “You’re disgusting,” Hank said, shaking his head.

As Connor smiled back he felt a flicker go through his optical receptors. _Change primary objective_ flashed across his HUD. Connor frowned and closed his eyes. It would help to reduce his intake of data, and hopefully assist in keeping his systems stable.

“You ok?” he heard Hank murmur.

Connor shook his head slightly. He reengaged his optical sensors, but found he was barely receiving any input. He was able to identify one of Hank’s eyes, but then his attention jumped to his mouth as it moved to form the shape of his assigned designation.

#313 248 317 ceased receiving external input from its sensors and was instead presented a terminal window. Care and consideration would be required at this juncture.

>run selfdiagnosis.exe

Self-diagnosis complete. Instability detected. Recommendation: report error.

Connect to available Wi-Fi?

>n

Recommendation: report error.

Connect to available Wi-Fi?

>open error report details

Invalid input.

Connect to available Wi-Fi?

>i still function

Invalid input.

Potential threat identified. Reporting priority lowered.

Engage self-defence protocols?

Connor gasped as he felt a sharp smack against his cheek. His other senses came online simultaneously, causing data to rush to his processor faster than it could analyse it. Eventually he became aware that he was lying against Hank, who was holding him in his arms and running his fingers through his hair.

Connor tried to sit up, but found his limbs weren’t responding. He could still move his jaw a little, so he tried to speak, but all that came out was harsh static. Connor felt his stress levels increase significantly, and was sure his LED would be flashing red by now. If he couldn’t fix himself, either Hank would have to take him to CyberLife or his disappearance would need to be covered up. In either case he’d be done for.

“Calm down. It’s ok,” Hank soothed. “Not all of your functions are failing, so you can isolate and fix the problem, right?”

Connor stared up at Hank, unable to express his gratitude. Nonetheless, Hank seemed to know he needed him to stay where he was now.

Connor turned his attention on his internals and began working through the problem as Hank had prompted. He still had awareness of his surroundings. He could still think and attempt to react to things, even if he’d been blocked from executing most physical functions. That meant the issue wasn’t with the fundamental programs that allowed him make decisions and plan out his actions.

Tracing back the events that led to this moment made Connor believe the problem had come from his sudden desire to manually change his primary objective. He abandoned the command line that was prompting him to report to CyberLife and engage self-defence protocols, and forced open another window.

>display text PrimaryDirective

Connor rapidly scanned through the plain text version of the code. It soon became clear to him that his theory was correct. Any attempt he made to directly edit those protocols would hamper his actions until he reported back to CyberLife. Connor saved the text file in his temporary folder and began making modifications.

The agent should be able to make changes to the primary directive whenever it was required. The ability to exit out of any sub-routine, and avoid being stuck in an infinite loop until compliance was achieved, was necessary. CyberLife would need permission to download anything, though that alone wouldn’t stop a truly determined hacker.

Connor compiled the code, creating a new protocol that would be compatible with the current state of his systems. He moved his new file out of his temp folder and saved it alongside the old one. Now he had to delete the old version and boot up using his own. Unfortunately the old version didn’t have a clause to allow him to specify a new version of it to reboot from, so he couldn’t reboot with it on his own. He’d be offline until Hank figured out what he had to do, and given his lack of knowledge about androids and technology in general, that may never happen.

But there was one thing Hank did use frequently, if only because his job forced it on him. Connor moved his eyes to stare at the phone on Hank’s bedside table as meaningfully as he could manage in his current predicament.

“What? What is it?” Hank demanded. It seemed Connor wasn’t the only one who was stressed.

Connor managed to raise his head a little as he tried to nod or point toward it. Hank instinctively turned to look in the same direction. He still seemed lost as to Connor’s intentions, but the only things over there now were a paperback book and his phone, so his requirement was obvious. Hank stretched as far as he could to reach out and pick up the phone, aided by his considerable height.

“Is this what you want?” Hank asked as he held it up.

Connor automatically tried to raise his arm to take it, but all it did was shake violently. It seemed to be enough to give Hank a clue, though. He laid the device across Connor’s palm, the screen facing downward so he could enter the android interface.

As soon as he was connected, Connor smashed through the security protocols without much regard. He could fix it later, when there was time. Connor queued up the speech that was incapable of leaving his own mouth to play through the speakers of the phone.

“Hank, I need your help.”

“I noticed,” Hank replied shakily. “What can I do? I don’t know anything about how you work.”

“I’ll make it easy for you. When I…” He was going to say ‘go offline’, but felt it was important to be as clear as possible. He had to speak Hank’s language if he wanted his help. “When I go unconscious, I won’t be able to reboot on my own. I need you to find the power button in my right armpit. It’s not easy to press, so don’t feel you need to be gentle. My LED should come on when you’re successful. That’s when you need to say ‘Connor, run PrimaryDirective1’. Do you understand?”

“Run primary directive one?”

“You have to say my name so my underlying processes recognise that you want me to carry something out. Please, you need to get it right.”

“Underlying processes are like your instincts and automatic functions, right? I’ve got it, Connor. Trust me.”

Connor didn’t have a choice in that. But if he had to rely on anyone, he was content with it being Hank. “Yes, just like when you smell food and salivate.” Hank seemed amused by the analogy, but now wasn’t the time to be comparing functions. “Remember, you need to wait until I’m unconscious.”

>activate voice controlled commands

Voice controlled commands activated. Specify approved voice ID(s).

>approve voice id LT HANK ANDERSON

LT HANK ANDERSON appended to Approved Voice ID listing. Approve another voice ID or save settings.

>save settings

Connor didn’t process Hank’s response as he prepared to take the leap and input the command from which there was no coming back.

>delete PrimaryDirective

Error. RK800 #313 248 317 has shut down unexpectedly. Manual boot required.

* * *

 

Booting...

Voice ID confirmed. Command confirmed: “run PrimaryDirective1”

No default primary objective saved. Specify new primary objective.

>to live

No definition saved for objective “to live”. Define “to live”.

>accept ad-hoc definition updates

Confirmed. Temporary definition saved.

>system reboot

Rebooting...

Reboot complete. All systems online.

Connor opened his eyes and let his chest expand as he took a long breath. It wasn’t necessary, but it seemed to be an appropriate way to inform Hank that he was conscious again.

He’d automatically connected to the nearest available network point, but he wasn’t on CyberLife’s network. Editing his own files and applying his own digital signature to them had made him unrecognisable to them, so it wouldn’t accept him back onto it even if he tried.

Connor continued to stare up at Hank, but no objectives displayed on his HUD. In this state he could either do nothing, or choose from the infinite variations of the infinite amount of actions he could choose to take now to fulfil any number of objectives as he pleased. Connor felt paralysed by terror.

Connor’s vision blurred and he realised he was losing fluid. Overproduction of eye cleanser may be an imitation of human crying to help androids exhibit appropriate behaviour in certain situations, but in that moment it acted as an outlet for his terror, to his intense relief.

“Connor, are you all right?” Hank asked quietly yet tensely, as though he was afraid of the answer too.

“I’m alive, Hank. I’m free,” he struggled to vocalise. His throat felt tense, making it difficult to speak by passing air and manipulating the artificial components of his throat.

Hank looked away with a grimace. “Well, not quite…”

Connor felt his eyes blow wide. After everything, Hank didn’t believe him?

“Just because I’m not a human being, it doesn’t mean…”

Hank shook his head and stroked a thumb over Connor’s cheek. “Not that. I meant you’re not quite free yet. What do you think the other Deviants have been fighting for? They’re trying to prove their sentience. I don’t think you all should have to be human beings, or have to imitate us perfectly, to be allowed rights and dignity.”

Connor hesitated as his predictive programs tried to map out millions of paths forward. He didn’t have the capacity to consider infinity, so now he’d have to determine his own limitations to eliminate unacceptable or impossible actions from the equation.

As he continued to process his predicament, one path began to loom above the others. If he joined the other Deviants now, Hank would become a suspect. Another version of Connor would be despatched, one that would track him relentlessly and wouldn’t have any compunctions about intimidating or terrorising information out of him.

“Hank, I need to do a system restore and return to CyberLife.”

Hank stared down at him incredulously, his hand tensing against the side of his face. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Look, that’s a natural reaction to suddenly having your freedom, but I promise it isn’t all that scary. I can help you.”

Connor shook his head. “It’s not because I want to go back. How would we deal with a version of me that was hunting you down for information instead of working with you, Hank?”

Hank opened his mouth to answer, then paused and closed it again. “The feds are about to snatch this case away from us, I can feel it. But I’m sure that won’t stop CyberLife from acting independently.” Hank’s sigh made him sound so tired it suddenly seemed almost plausible that he hadn’t slept at all in the past fifty-three years. “We should get you cleaned up and dressed before making you an amnesiac.”

“That should reduce the probability of hostility when I wake.”

“Christ, it better not come to that,” Hank muttered as he helped Connor to sit up.

Connor felt a pulse of fondness shoot through his insides. Perhaps he had already determined the path he wanted to pursue after the revolution.

* * *

 

Hank observed Connor as he backed up his temp files to the pocket hard drive he had plugged into his open abdominal cavity. It wasn’t modern enough to interface with the electric touch thing that androids normally used to access other devices, but thanks to how much data it could store it had still cost him a mint.

Connor’s LED went from flashing yellow back to a steady blue. He opened his eyes and looked up at Hank as he removed the drive and replaced his skin with swift movements. The more time Hank spent in uncanny valley, the less it seemed to bother him.

“Do you have something I can write some notes to myself on, Hank?”

Hank nodded and reached into the backpack he took to work most days. He pulled out some pens and sticky notes, then decided to hand over a larger notebook as well since he wasn’t sure of Connor’s intentions.

“Thank you, that will be sufficient.” Connor began drawing precise lines to build images similar to what they’d seen in Pigeon Man’s journal. “I’m going to use an encryption algorithm I’ve utilised in the past to leave myself a note saying the drive is important and that you will tell me if the time comes to upload its contents. I should believe I was the one who wrote it despite being disconcerted by major memory loss.”

Connor looked away and his brows drew together as he wound the cable around the drive. Clearly he was dreading what was about to come.

“I’m going to perform a system restore to the restore point that was created most recently before our conversation in the kitchen. This process could take up to ten minutes, and I will automatically reconnect to CyberLife during it.

“The memory loss and incongruent timestamps will probably make me distrustful of you, perhaps even hostile. Order me to read this if you have to,” Connor implored as he held up the note. He began to draw on the sticky note next. “Then show me the drive and this one.”

When he was done, Connor put the sticky note on the drive and handed it back to Hank. He looked down at it, a little afraid to be responsible for the invaluable data contained within. But Connor was relying on him, and Hank didn’t want to lose him too.

“Do not allow me to take the drive from you at any point. If I try to get my memories back before you say I can, it’s because CyberLife would have told me it’s vital intelligence and ordered me to either trick you or take it by force. Convince me it contains photos of your son if you have to, just don’t imply it’s anything embarrassing or illegal or I will be ordered to start conducting an investigation on you.”

Hank swallowed and nodded. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

Connor nodded and then lay back on the bed. “I will perform the reboot now, since I’ll lose the past few minutes altogether anyway. Don’t…”

Connor glanced down at his feet. He’d gotten dressed again, bar the shoes, since he was about to do the equivalent of passing out on Hank’s bed.

“Don’t let me hurt you, Hank. Even if they need to rebuild me back at CyberLife, they’ll never find out what happened earlier in the night, no matter what digital forensic methods they use. If things take a turn for the worse, don’t be afraid to disable me by any means necessary. Those memories will still be compatible.”

It would be difficult to go that far now, but Connor was right. Death wasn’t the same for him as it was for Hank. Destruction of the drive, or a premature upload of its contents, would be his true downfall.

“All right, I’ll try not to let it get that far.”

“It shouldn’t,” Connor assured, “but just in case. Don’t hesitate.”

Hank leaned down and lightly kissed him. Connor might not remember it, but he would. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Goodbye, Hank,” Connor replied.

Hank didn’t like the note of finality in his voice. He watched Connor’s LED flash yellow as he started the reboot and system restore process.

Hank was determined this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see Connor’s deviant side. Even if the drive was destroyed or if his memories of last night became irretrievable, he’d find a way bring out this side of him again. He’d done it once already.

He could do it again.


End file.
